Universes A Romance
by Shifterred
Summary: The Boys, a stranger, and some universe jumping in there for kicks!
1. Chapter 1

Red Dwarf Fanfic

Chapter One

STARBUG LOG: /DATAFILE561_B

COURSE: LOCKED/SOURCE/RED_DWARF

STATUS: SYSTEMS_FUNCTIONAL

RADAR_OPERATIONAL

ALERT_(BLUE)_ACTIVATED

ALERT_(RED)_ACTIVIATED

RADAR: POTENTIAL_ALERT/POSSIBLE_CRAFT/#6530_C1/ "WILDFIRE"

--

Arnold Judas Rimmer was not happy.

The hard-light hologram was, in fact, pretty smegging hacked off. Indeed, one could say that his current stream of computer-generated emotions were off the 'angry' scale and high into the 'psychotic with boiling rage' area. So totally peeved was Arnie "Iron Balls" Rimmer that his faux-hologramatic skin was actually looking a bit red. But that might have been due to the blood-tinged light that glowed in the cockpit. The flashing ALERT sign had recently been altered from a standard Blue Alert to the more serious Red (after Kryten, the service mech, had changed the bulb, of course). It was this Alert that was providing the mood lighting apropos to Rimmer's fury.

The Cat, who was for the moment the focus of the boiling hologram, was totally indifferent. As a Cat, it was completely against his better nature to ever be anything BUT indifferent in the light of an angry almost-human.

"Look, bud," the Cat spat back, offended, "I'm tellin' you. I don't smell a thing. I didn't when it popped up out of nothing and I definitely don't smell it now."

"That's impossible!" Rimmer screeched, flailing his arms about, "its right in front of us, you scraggy feline fleabag! Right there! In front of us. There!"

"I know, Black Hole Nostrils. I can see it, too, ok? Now stop yelling and let me get back to hailing the damn thing."

Rimmer was given the distinct impression that had Cat been an actual Cat and not, in fact, a humanoid descendant of said household pet, his fur would have been standing on end and his tail would likely be twitching. Rimmer didn't need to pretend the bared fangs into existence. He could see Cat's sharp incisors just fine.

"Forget it, tuna-breath," Rimmer sneered, masking his cowardly panic at the sight of an angry Cat by playing up his own Holier Than Thou annoyance, "I'll hail it myself."

"You? Come on, Rimm'eh. All you're gonna do is surrender to 'em, anyway. Might as well give ourselves a smidge of a change, don't ya think?"

Rimmer and the Cat both turned slightly to see David Lister leaning against the door frame leading into the cockpit. Cat grinned toothily, glad to have someone else in the cramped space to distract Rimmer's arrogant attentions. Besides, even if the feline-descendant was loath to admit it out loud, he had a certain faith in Lister. If anyone could make things alright and ensure that Cat would live another day to lick-clean his suits, it was Lister the Space Bum. Goal-post Head, on the other hand, the Cat wouldn't even trust to spit-shine his shoes.

"Listy," Rimmer drawled, apparently not impressed with the Last Human's scroungy bed-attire, "nice to see you've bothered to pull yourself away from your deep slumbers in the midst of this serious Red Alert situation. Didn't disturb your latest X-rated dream, I hope?"

"Nah," Lister replied, easily, "Dun have those dreams anymore, Rimmer. Not since I got a hold of your blow-up girlfriend. Cheers, mate, for the puncture repair kit. Makes her a lot more receptive."

Rimmer looked near to going into cardiac arrest on the spot, and likely he would have if not for the fact that he was a hologram...and if not for the fact that he was interrupted by Kryten.

Kryten waddled awkwardly into his usual position as they spoke, and was frowning (a strange plastic parody of a frown) down at the controls before him.

"Sirs? I hate to interrupt, but I believe that the Starbug is receiving an incoming hail."

"What?" Rimmer snapped, surprised. He peered over the Cat's shoulder, but there was no indication of a hail on the pilot's monitors, "That's impossible! We haven't hailed them first, yet!"

"Smug mode. Indeed, Mr. Rimmer, sir. The frequency is a little strange. It appears that the ship that is currently docked in our flight path is running on a slightly different core operating system than our own. I am de-coding the message and feeding it into our monitors now, sirs."

No sooner had Kryten finished his somewhat 'smug-moded' explanation than the monitors flickered into life.

An out of focus black-and-white image shifted and swirled on the screen. In between bits of static and distortion, portions of what might have possibly been a humanoid countenance shimmered on the screen.

"Adjusting the audio frequency now, sirs," Kryten murmured.

A strangely mechanical sounding voice filtered, tinny, from their speakers, horribly out of synch with the video loop they were receiving.

"Re-ce. Com-miss-ard. Re-ques-erse. Ac-mmer-lp. Urg-fire. Re-..."

"For smeg's sake, what on earth is this garbled nonsense?" Rimmer snapped, glaring at Kryten, "Can't you manage any better than that? I can't make out a word of it, let alone see what's going on over there. For all we know the speaker is a Man-eating GELF who's kindly asking that we surrender ourselves to be the entrée at it's next dinner party."

"I'm attempting to record the data and fill it in with my own banks, Mr. Rimmer, sir, but I'm afraid that might take some time."

"No, no, wait a second," Lister piped up. His eyes were trained on the scrambled images, his ear turned toward the speaker nearest him. The semi-illiterate space bum had possibly never looked so intent or thoughtful, "It's kinda clearin' up, like."

For a while no one spoke except the garbled speech rushing from the speakers.

"Thi...Commander...permission...board. Repeat. This is....requesting. Acting...of the...fire. Repeat. Is...tening? Commander...mmer. Ace. Rimmer. Permission to...help. Rep...urgent...Wildfire. Re-"

"Hear that?" Lister stated, excitedly, "It said 'Ace Rimmer'. That's the Wildfire, out there. An' he wants to board us!"

Rimmer snorted, "I've no doubt that's _exactly_ what he wants to do, the goity poof."

"I'm afraid that the possibility of the craft being the Wildfire is not well supported, Mr. Lister, sir," Kryten gulped a little, his guilt-chip itching, "In fact, by judging the projected size, weight, color, function, and general build of the ship, I can say that there is only an approximate 20% chance that it is actually Mr. Ace's ship. I'm sorry, sir, but I would advise against acting on such a small probability."

Lister huffed slightly, but took Kryten's advice, "Alright, then, Krytes. What are we supposed to do, then? We can't just sit like this, playin' chicken with it. We're loosin' Red Dwarf's vapor trail the longer we sit here, right?"

"I have an idea," the Cat offered, happily, "I say we go and take a nap and talk about this later!"

"No one is going anywhere," Rimmer said. He reached over Cat's shoulder, using his newly-founded hard-light abilities to slam his fist down on a blinking button. Instantly, the flashing Alert sign flicked off.

"We're going to surrender. Right now."

"Oh, please," Lister exclaimed, throwing up his hands, "I can't believe this. Someone out there needs help, no matter who they are, and we're just sittin' here discussin' cat naps and lengthy procedures to decode the smegging distress message!"

"There is no need to discuss the procedure any more, Mr. Lister, sir. I believe I've been able to suitably reconstruct the message. It's only the audio, I'm afraid, but it should suffice."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Lister whooped, "play it, then, Krytes."

The speakers around them whined piercingly for a brief moment before clicking into a reconstructed version of the distress message's audio feed. All Dwarfers turned their ears to the speakers attentively, expecting either disaster or adventure. Or both.

The feedback from the reconstructed message poured out of the speakers. The voice was computer-forced now, sounding monotone and artificial, each syllable carefully articulated and ringing hollow for it's sheer inhuman lack of emotion.

"Directive number 4415 AKA 'Ship Distress Message, Immediate Peril'. Hailing the JMC class Starbug within my radar range. Are you in activation? Please respond. Repeat, please respond. Very well. This is an official distress message as stated by the Space Corps directives, numbering 3102..."

The computerized voice went dead for a moment, replaced with a bit of data that sounded much like Kryten's own voice.

"Space Corps directive 3102: No single-man vessel may ever be painted in more than two primary colors, unless said colors are blue and red with white accent..."

"What?" Lister said, his expression pulled into one of confusion.

The computer-synthsized audio played in again.

"Oh. Damn. Sorry, no, that's not the right directive. Hold on a tic. Right. Uhm...sorry. This is it. This is...offical, yadda yadda, Space Corps directives, numbering 3103. Three. A-ha."

Kryten's data-bank voice broke in once more.

"Space Corps directive 3103: A single-man vessel may request help only while experiencing a fatal situation as specified by the Space Corps directives 4012-5102, please see note..."

"Nevermind that, Kryten, I think we get the idea," Lister broke in, sounding bored.

"Yes, sir. I'll just skip ahead a little," Kryten replied, obediently turning a dial on his control panel. A few minutes of the audio rapidly pulsed by, indicated by a strange tittering sound before it settled into it's computer-speech pattern once more.

"This is an urgent call for help. This is acting Commander Verse of the Wildfire Two. I am seeking out Rimmer, Ace. I repeat, I am looking for Ace Rimmer. I believe he may be on your vessel. This is acting Commander Verse of the Wildfire Two and I am in urgent need of assistance. My oxygen supply is about out, now, and I really really am politely requesting to board your stupid ship. Help me, please. I am operating on a frequency your piece of smeg ship doesn't seem to quite comprehend, but I hope that at least some of this message is going to do through. I've put it on loop, but I haven't a lot of time. Please respond, if you can. Message Repeat. Directive number 4415..."

"The message loops from there, sirs," Kryten explained, helpfully.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Rimmer sneered. The hard-light was frowning deeply, but it wasn't his usual bitter over-bearing frown. The hologram actually appeared to be a little...disturbed. He looked close to afraid, but, for some reason, he wasn't running off to hide or anything. Lister, observing him from the corner of his eye, wondered if maybe the smeghead had contracted some kind of holo-illness.

"So there's some dude in that thing that's lookin' for Ace?" Cat synopsised, confused.

"Well, s'looking for Rimmer, I guess," Lister replied

"And he's almost out of air?...but he's looking for Train Tunnel Nostrils? I say we let him go, bud. Anyone actually looking for Rimmer is probably space crazy."

"Maybe he wants ta find him ta kill him," Lister pointed out, thoughtfully.

The Cat instantly brightened, "Oh. Well, that's ok, then. Let's signal back. Right now."

"Now just wait a moment!" Rimmer burst, annoyed, "I hardly think that a little lack of oxygen and a convenient name dropping is any reason to let a perfect stranger board the Starbug."

"Rimm'eh, you're only sayin' that 'cos you think the tosser on board that Wildfire is gonna kill you. An' what do you care, anyway? You're already dead, and your hard-light body is practically indestructible."

"Practically," Rimmer echoed, sharply.

"Whatever," Lister said, turning to leave the cockpit, "Suit up, guys. We're goin' after the bloke. If he's looking for Ace, I wanna know why."

Cat and Kryten obediently trooped out of the cockpit to prepare themselves to cross the small distance between ships. Rimmer, however, stayed where he was, leaning moodily against the navi-comp. Hell would freeze over, thaw, and freeze again before anyone was going to get HIM to go traipsing off into certain doom. He knew a trap when it saw it, even if the bog-bot, the fleabag, and the bum didn't. Once the Bug had gone good and quiet, the hard-light hologram leaned over and pressed the playback feed. The computer-generated voice filled the small room once more. As each second of the reconstructed feed passed, Rimmer's frown deepened until there was a practical canyon in between his eyebrows and a gaping hole on either side of his thinly pulled lips. Something...seemed very off here. More than usual, in fact.

"I'm going to my quarters," Rimmer announced to no one at all.

"This is acting Commander Verse, of the Wildfire Two," the looped distress message replied, then it skipped a bit, the actual audio feed overriding Kryten's careful reconstruction. There was a tittering noise that filled the empty cockpit for a few seconds before the playback resumed as it was originally meant to. A low but obviously female voice washed over the tinny computerized sounds that had played before. The original audio was awash with barely contained desperation, the woman's voice cracking as she screamed into the microphone.

"For Goddess's sake, Ace. Answer me. It's Verse, damnit. I need you. Answer me! Don't let me die out here alone...Smeg it."

A snarled sound of pain shattered the end of the audio feed.

The tittering noise filled in again and the computerized sounds spoke up as they had before.

"This is an urgent call for help. This is acting Commander Verse of the Wildfire Two. I am seeking out Rimmer, Ace..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Wildfire Two was a tin can, even when compared to the Starbug. As far as single-occupant ships went, it was on the largish size. But even that didn't help when it came to cramming the Cat, Kryten, and Lister in through it's carefully sealed doors. Somehow, they just managed to bunch themselves into the tiny bedroom/kitchen/living area of the ship, which rested just behind the pilots station, separated from it only by a thin sheet.

"The Psi-scan is showing oxygen levels in the negatives, sirs. I suggest you do not remove your helmets," Kryten whispered.

Lister wanted to ask why he was whispering...but he knew why. The Wildfire Two was dead, all light and motion gone. The only thing that seemed to be functioning normally was the faux-gravity system. Being inside of it was rather like being trapped in a very small tomb. He shuddered to think what they might find when he finally scrounged up the courage to peer into the pilot's station. Would this Verse bloke be dead already? Had they wasted valuable seconds with their squabbling? There was only one way to find out.

Slowly Lister reached out a gloved hand and brushed the curtain aside.

A human figure decked out in silver baco-foil was hunched in the pilot's seat, which was turned all the way around, facing the curtain.

A pale face tilted upward into his line of sight. Lister gasped involuntarily, disturbed by the pilot's ragged intake of breath and bluish skin. A great splash of sticky red blood seemed to glow in the light of his torch as he played it across her abdomen and back again to her face. He paused longer than he possibly should have over the evident curve of breasts under her shiny flight suit. She squinted in the glare.

"'Bout time," the woman managed, thickly. She looked quite ready to faint.

Lister lurched forward, feeling awkward in his heavy spacesuit. He grabbed the extra portable oxygen tank from Kryten's unresisting hold and slid the mouthpiece over the woman's head. His gloved hands brushed against long neon-stripped hair and bumped clumsily against her sharp cheekbones as he did so. Her first few breaths of the bottle oxygen were too deep, and she sputtered for a moment or two whilst the Boys from the Dwarf stood and watched her, temporarily at a loss. What did one do in the presence of honest-to-God females, again?

Finally, it was Cat who broke the silence and dispelled the awkwardness in the air. And made some awkwardness of his own.

"Well hello there, fine female-type woman. It is a pleasure for you to have met me! Or, at least, it will be."

Lister flinched.

"Cat," he said, warningly, "S'not the time for that."

"Buddy, it's ALWAYS the time for that."

Lister ignored him.

"Mr. Lister, sir," Kryten spoke up, his bulky mechanical body pressed strangely against the small confines of the vessel, "Might I suggest that we help the young lady into a spacesuit and escort her to the Starbug. We can give her proper medical assistance there."

"Yeah, man," Lister said. He turned to the pilot, "We wanna help you board our ship, now, if ya think you can get up."

The woman didn't appear to be listening. She was peering past his shoulder at Cat and Kryten and beyond even them, as if seeking out another face that was not to be found in the shadowy confines of the Wildfire.

Lister didn't need for her to remove her air-mask to know what she was trying to communicate.

"Rimm'eh's...on the 'Bug. He's...uh. He's keepin' an eye out for...astroids."

The female looked at him and frowned a little, her heavy brown brows pulling together. Lister couldn't blame her for being suspicious. Her message had indicated that she was looking for Ace Rimmer. And if the Ace she was looking for and the Ace he'd once met were one in the same...it was no wonder that she would doubt his word. Ace Rimmer would never be left behind to guard the ship. Ace would have been right in the thick of this. Hell, he probably would have been here hours ago, and he would have supplied the woman with his OWN air, forgoing the oxygen tank entirely. Thoughts of what that action then would lead to made Lister surprisingly hot under the collar. It really had been a while since he'd last been this close to a girl. A real one, anyway, not a Hologram or a GELF or a stimulant. He felt like he was a pre-pre-teen again, shy and not sure what to do or say to a being whose bits were all curvy and whose eyes were so bright and whose lips were so full and soft looking, even when partially obscured by her clouded breath against the plastic mask. He gulped.

"Sir, I still recommend we all move to the Starbug as quickly as possible," Kryten stated, sounding strangely tetchy. Lister shook himself out of his daydreaming.

The woman reached up and yanked the oxygen mask away from her mouth.

"I'm not...leaving...my...ship," she stated, panting heavily. She quickly replaced the mask where it was, looking as if she felt nauseous.

"I'm afraid that towing your ship with us would be quite impossible, Miss. Your vessel is much too heavy to pull, and too big to store in the 'Bug."

The woman sputtered a little, rolling her eyes. Even half-suffocated, she was an obvious spit-fire. Listen wasn't sure if he should be feeling even more turned-on...or scared out of his wits at what she might do when she was REALLY angry.

"Red Dwarf," she stated, muffled under the oxygen mask.

Kryten fidgeted slightly, turning his gaze upon Lister for help.

"Uh. Well," Lister began, slowly, "We don't really have the Dwarf anymore, exactly."

The woman's gray eyes widened to impossible size and Lister stared at the strangeness of the icy hue and the way the pupils of her eyes seemed to glow florescent in the light of his torch...like a cat's. He was, for a moment, unnerved, all thoughts of this woman sweaty and naked in his bed quickly squished out like a candle flame. For the moment, at least.

"I'm not...leaving...my...ship," she stated once more, stubbornly.

"I'm afraid you must," Kryten replied. He didn't sound as sorry as his words indicated, though. Lister frowned at him, wondering why the mech was being so rude.

"Then...I need...part of it," the woman said.

"Part of it?" Lister broke in, confused.

The pilot nodded, pushing herself away from the well-worn pilot's seat. She wobbled for a moment on her booted feet before stepping clumsily over toward the wall just past Lister's shoulder.

"This," she said, tapping at a fancy looking glowing gadget that was wedged between a panel of glass and the wall of the ship.

The Cat pressed against Lister's back to get a better look.

"Oh, it's a shiny thing!" the Cat purred, pleased at the way the curly-q shimmered and sparkled.

"If I may, sirs, I believe that this is device is similar to the one inside of the original Wildfire ship. The device which allowed Mr. Ace Rimmer to travel between dimensions."

The woman whirled to face Kryten, her gray eyes shining.

"You've...seen...Ace, really?" she breathed, hopeful, "The...original...?"

Kryten and Lister traded uneasy and confused glances. The Cat was too busy staring with appreciation at the woman's tight baco-foiled behind to join in.

"The original?" Lister parroted, puzzled.

"Sir, I believe this ship is unstable, and this woman appears to be seriously injured as well as oxygen deprived. I would advise that you and Mr. Cat take her back to the Starbug. In the mean time, I will detach the dimension-jumping device from the ship and bring it into the 'Bug, as well. With the lady's permission, of course."

The woman paused a moment, uncertain that she should trust Kryten's abilities. Finally, she sighed heavily against the mask, breathed in deeply again, and nodded.

"Alright, then," Lister said, offering the women a steadying arm, which she merely stared at and did not take, "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Once Commander Paige "Verse" Piper was safely tucked away in the medi-bay recuperating from minor oxygen deprivation and a laceration in her side, Lister decided it was high time he located the only person on the Starbug that Verse actually wanted to see.

"Rimm'eh," Lister said again, giving the tightly locked door another resounding kick, "Come out of there."

There was a silence, then, finally, a familiar nasally tone drifted through the door.

"Did you bring the crazy homicidal maniac back with you, then?"

"The who?" Lister questioned, honestly confused for a moment before he recalled the semi-teasing conversation he'd had with Cat, "Nah, man. No one is wanting to kill you. Commander Verse is just lookin' for Ace."

"Well he can smeg off, then. I'm not Ace."

"Well, yeah. But...you're close, like."

No sooner had Lister finished speaking than the door swung viciously open and Rimmer's head popped out, his large nostrils flaring.

"I am NOTHING like that conceited fairy git," Rimmer snarled.

Lister sighed. How many times did they have to have this conversation?

"Rimmer, man. Ace is YOU, just from another dimension, is all. It's not a lot of difference. You could be just like him, if you tried."

"I don't WANT to be like him, Lister. Now smeg off and leave me alone. I'm not going to prance around for this Space Corps jockey you've 'rescued'. Tell him he can find his boyfriend somewhere else."

Lister allowed the door to slam in his face before he replied.

"S'her, actually," he said, softly.

There was a heavy silence on the other side of the door.

"What was that?" Rimmer asked, his voice having clearly gone up in pitch by at least an octave.

"Her. Commander Paige "Verse" Piper. She's a she. A girl. A woman with butt and breasts and these fantastic eyes..."

The door swung open again and Rimmer pushed past him.

"Where you going?" Lister questioned his quickly retreating form.

"To see the ravishing beauty that's eagerly awaiting me, of course, Listy!" Rimmer replied, his voice a happy sing-song.

"...Kay, man. But you're not goin' the right way. She's in the medi-bay."

Rimmer stopped walking and turned, slowly.

"....Oh. Sick, is she? Well, in that case...after you."

Lister reached out a hand and blocked Rimmer's path through the medi-bay doors.

"Maybeh I should go and talk to her, first. So she knows you're with me and...an' maybe I should tell her that you're not quite the Rimmer she's expectin'..."

Rimmer snorted and switch to soft-light, phasing right through Lister's arm before going solid again and pushing through the doors.

At the sound of the opening doors, the patient inside the make-shift medi-bay sat up attentively. She was looking much better for a good deal of oxygen, rest, and fluids. The cut in her side had been carefully stitched up under Kryten's steady mech-hand, and she was smiling slightly at something unseen. She was a little goofy from painkillers, her eyes a tad glazed over. The drug-induced smile froze like ice on her face when she saw Rimmer.

There was a horrible pause whilst the woman took in his familiar bone-structure, his familiar eyes, his familiar lips, his NOT-familiar expression of bitterness, and his NOT-familiar aura of self-loathing. Ace, she thought, but not Ace. Arnold Judas Rimmer was there in his nostril-flaring finest. Another Arnold Rimmer. Another smeghead.

In the meanwhile, Rimmer took in her wide gray eyes, her full lips, her arched brows, and her ridiculous hair; it was long, mousy brown, and dyed in stripes of blindingly bright neon pink, green, blue, orange, yellow, and lavender. Hardly, he would think, the proper procedure for hair-care in the Space Corps, no matter what dimension you hail from. She looked, he decided, hatefully, like a angst-ridden reject of society. He was better off, really, that she wouldn't like him. He just knew, deep down that she was going to hate him for not being the Rimmer she was hoping for. Closer to the surface of his warped little mind, however, he felt he was hating her justly for being a twat.

"...Ace?" she questioned, but there was a slight quavering in her voice which belied her words. Of course he wasn't Ace. Of course not.

"Arnold, actually," the hologram said, instantly on the defensive when he registered the look of disappointment in her eyes.

Slowly the ice of her smile melted into a carefully controlled expression of neutrality.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Rimmer, sir," Verse said. Her tone was distant, but more-or-less sincere, "My name is Paige. But you can call me Verse, if you'd like. Most of my...friends...do. Thank you for allowing me to board your ship. I can assure you the whole situation is only temporary. I don't want to bother you or your crew."

His crew?

Rimmer nodded, stiffly, "I'm sure you don't," he replied, cooly. He could play this game. He could hate her, too. Why was he even surprised that she didn't like him after only two seconds of meeting him. All you had to do was consider who it was she was comparing him to!

It was this line of thought that made Verse's next statement almost fly right past his ears.

"You look like a man who enjoys a good game of Risk."

He stared at her for a moment, stunned and slackjawed.

"...B..beg pardon?" he squeaked.

"Fancy a game? If you are, in fact, a fan of Risk. I suppose you might not be. But I am, and I'm quite bored, all cooped up in here. I know you're busy being in charge and everything. You don't have to play if you don't want, I completely understand, I wouldn't really want to be stuck here playing Risk with a silly Space Corps Commander, either. Oh, smeg, sorry. I'm really babbling, aren't I? I blame whatever your mechanoid gave me. I think the stuff is really starting to kick in. I feel like I've taken on one to many Pangalactic Gargle Blasters."

Rimmer continued to stare gormlessly at her.

"What?" he croaked out, feeling rather as if his personality disc had had a good scramble.

"A Pangalatic Gargle Blaster. You probably don't have them here in this dimension. I mean, I'm sure you don't. You're in a human-only universe, aren't you? Just humans and holograms and GELFS, right? No aliens...and, therefore, no alien booze. Too bad, really. They make the best liquor out there. Guaranteed to either kill you, or give you one hell of a good time."

"I think..." Rimmer began, and then gave his head a shake, "No. I take that back. I KNOW that you are definitely without a single bit of doubt completely space crazy."

Verse giggled, rather proving the holograms point, in his own estimation.

"Poor Rimmer. So many Rimmers, scattered everywhere...everywhen...everywhat...and hardly any of you know a thing at all. It's sad, really. But it's going to be okey-dokey, Arnie. You aren't Ace, but I've met a lot of yous, so far, and you're all easy to figure out. You'll do just fine. I miss...but it's ok. I bet you aren't so bad. I bet you're an ok chap, deep, deep, deep, deeeeeeeeeeeep down."

Verse closed her eyes a moment, looking decidedly green around the gills. So to speak.

"Hell-a-fire-ever-loving-smeg," she muttered, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Rimmer had unconsciously started to back away from the woman, reaching a hand out behind him to find the door.

"Lister!" he screamed, "Lister! Help!"

His hand just touched the door when Verse sat up bolt-upright, her eyes wide, her hands clasped tightly to the sides of her head.

"Ow. Ow! Damn! Oh, Goddess, it hurts."

Rimmer yelped at the screams of pain. He pressed against the door to the medi-bay with all his strength but it wouldn't budge.

Verse ground her teeth, the tendons standing out clear and ugly in her neck as her whole body tensed.

"What the smeg did he give me?" she whimpered, "I think...I think I'm having an allergic...reaction. SMEGGING HELL."

Verse's limbs flailed for a moment, smashing various objects aside.

Rimmer screeched like a small pig-tailed girl as a tray of medical supplies took a flying leap off the table and crashed inches from his hologramatic head.

"Sorry!" Verse cried, still clutching at her temples, "Ow! I need...Rimmer, I need you to...help me, damn it. Stop...cowering and do something HELL-OUCH useful!"

Rimmer stared at her, "What, exactly, do you want me to do?" he shouted at her. He was cornered, there was suddenly no place to go to cower and hide. He had to help. There really was no other option.

Verse didn't answer at first. She was sobbing, now, a choking sound that greatly hampered her ability to speak.

"S-sing," she stated, brokenly. Rimmer couldn't be sure of what she said, seriously doubting that the rampaging insane woman had serious just requested that he SING.

"What?" he questioned, at a loss.

"SING, damnit."

"Sing? I...can't. I don't...know...I..."

Verse was tearing at the IV in her arm now, trying to stop the reaction at it's source. Her whole body was trembling violently now, her grasping clawing hand kept missing the IV line, scratching deep rivets in her arm instead.

"I need to...calm down and...I need you...to help me. Sing...something!"

Rimmer was going to bolt. He was would find a way out of this and all would be well. That was his plan. But sometimes it's impossible to go through with plans when all hell is breaking loose and the woman that just offered to play RISK with you is screaming in agony and begging for help.

"I...I'm a little lamb..." Rimmer began, softly, "L-lost in the wood...I know I could... with someone to watch...over me..."

Rimmer faltered.

"I'm sorry, it's the only song I know!"

"N-no, it's ok...just keep...keep...argh!" the IV slipped from her grasp and she attacked at it again, finding it difficult to grab at something that was wavering and doubling before her eyes.

"I...I'm a little lamb...whose lost in the wood, I know I could, could always be good to one who'll watch over me. Although I may not be the man some girls think of as handsome...but to her heart I'll carry the key."

Verse broke in, voice shaking.

"Won't you tell him please to put on some speed, follow my lead. Oh how I need someone to watch over me."

Rimmer swallowed, nervously. Everything had stopped suddenly. All was quiet.

"You, ah, know it, then," Rimmer offered, lamely.

Verse nodded. She'd finally succeeded in yanking out the IV line. The chemical within was spilling out onto the floor, causing a tiny drip-drop sound to fill in the silence between them.

"Yes. I do. You always like that song. All of you do. I'll sing it for you properly, sometime."

Verse's expression was drawn. She looked rattled and as if she might topple over at any moment.

"I need you to leave," Verse said, slowly, "I think I'm going to hurl."

Rimmer didn't need to be told twice. Now that the strange spell of partial-heroism was apparently broken, he was more than able to dash out of the medi-bay doors. He barreled into Kryten on his way out, but didn't even stop to snap at the mechanoid for being in his way. Suitably confused, Kryten waddled into the medi-bay and was more than a little dismayed upon finding Miss Verse with her IV out and the contents of her stomach spewed over the crisp white sheets.

"Oh dear," Kryten said.

"Oh dear is right, ice-cube head," Verse snapped, sulkily, "Are you TRYING to kill me? What is this smeg, anyway?"

Kryten frowned, looking confused.

"I don't understand, Miss Verse. It's only saline solution. I believe it is a common substance for treating patients in your state."

"Saline?" Verse stated, eyes wide, "As in sodium chloride in water? Salt water?"

"....Well, yes, Miss."

"Kryten? Never EVER give me that again. Ok?"

"But Miss...my data banks assured me that saline is a perfectly harmless solution for human beings."

"Exactly, Kryten. Exactly."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Go on. You? Sing? I'd pay to see that!"

Rimmer groaned. Why on Io had he told Lister what had happened in the medi-bay? Oh, yes. It was because he had been convinced it was all a dream. And usually sharing your nightmares with people was healthy, a good release. Except for those times when it turns out the nightmare actually happened. And then you're just asking for trouble.

"I didn't sing, exactly," Rimmer said, defending himself, "I more...rapped it, really."

"Rapped? Mr. Up The Ziggurat himself? Rimm'eh, not only would I PAY to see that...I'd sell me first born."

"What, sell Bexley? What a true testament to motherhood that is, Listy."

"Jim."

Rimmer sighed heavily, looking blearily up from the table on which he was resting his head.

"What are you twattering about?"

"Jim was the first-born. Bexley was second."

Rimmer pulled a face. Lister was sounding decidedly mopey, no doubt remembering the super-growth twins he himself had given birth to after a freak alternate-reality mixup in which the space bum had boinked his female self and, following the protocals of that universe, had ended up carrying twin boys. He'd named them Jim and Bexley after his favorite sport star, Jim Bexley Speed. The boys lived on the other universe with their...female father...now. Bringing it up probably wasn't Rimmer's finest moment, in fact, but he didn't give a smeg about Lister's feelings. He had his own problems to deal with, after all. And right now one of the biggies was Miss Paige "Verse" Piper. He'd have to keep an eye out for that one...so he could run and hide at the proper times.

"Whichever," Rimmer drawled, rising from his place at the dinner table, "I think I'm going to go see if I can wipe the last two days out of my memory banks."

"Careful with that, Rimmer. Remember what happened last time?"

How could Rimmer forget that fateful moment when Lister had decided to do him a 'favor' by implanting his own memories of an old flame into Rimmer's personality disc memory bank, therefore causing a chain of events which caused them to erase four days of their lives?

"No," Rimmer said, with forceful cheeriness, "I don't remember a thing, miladdio."

And with a stupid flourish that he probably hoped would look dashing, Rimmer disappeared through the doorway, headed for his quarters.

"I heard you got Rimm'eh to sing you a song."

Verse looked up from the pile of metal scrap and the glowing Dimension Drive that was settled in her lap. She looked guilty.

"Don't tell Kryten I'm working on this," she whispered, "I promised him I'd stop fiddling with the Drive when I'm supposed to be recuperating. I'm just so smegging bored, Dave. I thought Arn might come back and play a game of Risk or two with me, but he hasn't come back since the...medication mix up."

Lister nodded, settling himself in a chair, straddling it backwards like the true rebel and bum he was.

"Yeah, well. Think it scared him a bit, is all. The singing part, I mean. Not really the allergy bit. I don't think he cared much, actually," Lister grimaced when he realized, belatedly, what he'd just said.

"It's alright," Verse said, breezily, "I know that Arnold Rimmer's got less compassion for his fellow man than a JMC drill cares for chocolate-covered cherries. I don't mind."

Lister leaned his elbows against the back of the chair and placed his chin solidly in his hands. He looked as if he was sitting down to enjoy his favorite movie ("Its a Wonderful Life").

"Why d'ya know so much about him, anyway?" Lister had been dying to approach the topic for three whole days now, and was delighted to have gotten the chance.

"What do you mean? He's not exactly a hard man to read."

"Nah, I know. But...it's like you know things beyond the surface, like. And you accept it. You don't just know that he's a smeghead who'd sooner use you as a human shield than blink an eye. You accept it. You seem ta...ta LIKE it, even."

"I don't LIKE it," Verse said, surprised Lister would even say such a thing, "I just know that there is more in there than meets the eye, that's all. And...I like what's under there."

Lister frowned a little, digesting this. He'd always known that Rimmer couldn't really be a total smeghead. Meeting Ace Rimmer had really opened his eyes, though, to how much of a NOT-smeghead Rimmer could be. The idea that his A. J. Rimmer could ever be great like Ace, though? Nah. Not possible.

"I'm bored," Verse whined, possibly in part to change the subject.

"I'm thirsty," Lister offered right back.

"Got any alcohol?"

Lister grimaced, "Not worth drinkin'. It's mostly urine recyc."

Verse pulled a very un-lady-like face, "Hell. That's gross."

"Ya haven't even tasted it yet," Lister said, somberly. The lack of proper alcohol in the Starbug's stores was a constant source of anguish for the man, and to be reminded of it by a fellow alcohol enthusiast was quite a kick in the gut.

Verse was quiet for a very long time.

"Do you have any proper water?" she finally asked, her tone controlled and even.

Lister got up on his feet, shrugging.

"Sort of. It's recyc, too, really. But you don't notice it as much. Why? Y'really thirsty?"

Verse tilted her head in an odd way.

"Sure," she said, slowly, "Can I have a water pitcher, please?"

Lister nodded in agreement and left the medi-bay to ask Kryten where exactly they kept the pitchers.

Cat's shift had just ended. He was supposed to be relieved of piloting duty by Lister, but so far, the space bum hadn't shown. Cat was slightly annoyed by this type of behavior as Lister's tardiness meant a severe cut into Cat's personal napping time. And a cat without his nap is hardly a cat at all.

"Hey, buddy!" Cat said, a carefully manicured fingernail pressed against the full-ship communicator's on switch, "You gonna come and change over, or am I gonna have to go all tiger on your chipmunk face?"

There was a slight pause that annoyed Cat even more, and then the com crackled into life.

Lister giggled.

"Oh, yesh. Sorry, Cat. I got a bit..." another giggle "...dist..dis...I forgot what I was doin'. I'll be ri...right there, yeah?"

Cat took in a deep sniff of air through his finely honed nostrils. He could smell the stench of high-powered liquor over the communicator. It was like his nose was crammed halfway into Lister's mouth, the reek was so thick.

"Buddy, what are you doing?" Cat demanded, "Are you space crazier than usual? You drinking the urine-recyc? Are you that desperate?"

"No way, man" Lister slurred and stumbled, "S'fantastic stuff. Verse gave it to me. You should come down h-here and try it. I'm so past 'nicely drunk', I think I might jush cry."

Cat just shook his head and kept piloting. Verse gave him a funny feeling when he got too close. At first he'd thought it was the kind of feeling he got when he thought about female cats. But then it'd all taken a bit of a bad turn, and instead of making him feel good, being around Verse made him feel very, very, bad. He hadn't told the rest of the crew, yet. He thought they'd feel that knot-in-the-stomach feeling soon. And then they'd get rid of the scary lady and all would be well within Cat's small self-obsessed universe once more.

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, really. One minute he'd wandered in to check on Verse before his shift, and the next she was offering him this amazing golden-colored drink that had apparently appeared out of nowhere at all. And it was good. It tasted good, it felt good going down, and it felt damn good when it made his whole world explode in a sea of color and sound and all sorts of sensual experiences he'd definitely never had from lager.

"Sh'stuff. S'like...that stuff that's all..."

"Godly?" Verse offered, sweetly. She'd been doing little more than giving her cup a few passing sips, watching with indifference as Lister swallowed down gulp after heavy gulp of the syrupy smooth liquor.

"Yeaaaah, that's it. Godly. N-nice and..."

Lister trailed off. Somewhere along the line he'd managed to go from his place on the chair to the edge of Verse's hospital bed. And now he was pressing his body up against hers, his arms hanging, drunken and useless, but his tongue was apparently a lot smarter under the influence, because he was currently cramming it down Verse's throat like there was no tomorrow. Her mouth was weirdly cold. In fact, her whole blessed body was like ice, but it felt good in a soothing way. Like a cold compress feels good when you're running a fever. He pressed closer, whimpering. It'd been so long since he'd kissed a girl. And Verse was a girl, sure enough.

At first, out of surprise, Verse had gone along with it. When Lister's hands started to get some intelligence back, though, and started clambering for her chest, she pulled quickly away, pushing against Lister's chest with all of her power. He was held back a few inches, then, staring with drunken confusion.

"Eh?" he muttered, puzzled, "Why'd you stop?"

Verse stared at him, goggle-eyed.

"Lister...I think you'd better go."

"But...but we're havin' a good time, yeah? I thought you...I thought we could...?"

Verse was shaking her head, rapidly. Lister was hurt, and showed it in every bit of body language he possessed.

"No. We can't. Definitely not. I'm sorry, Dave. I didn't realize that you...I mean, I assumed you. I don't know."

"Why not?" Lister questioned, his ego rather bruised, "Was it somethin' I did?"

Verse fiddled with a hot-pink chunk of her long hair.

"Not exactly," Verse said, slowly. She avoided his gaze.

"What, then? Do I need ta go slower? Need to keep me hands to myself? What? I'll do it, just tell me what it is ya want."

Verse blushed.

"Well, usually what I want is a lot more curvy and a little less boxy."

Lister was lost, and showed it by scrunching his eyebrows together in perplexity.

"Dave," Verse tried again, embarrassed, "I fancy women."

Lister blinked. The information took a considerable amount of time to reach the part of his brain that was still functioning in a more-or-less normal state.

"...You like girls?" he said, shocked.

"Yes," Verse said, firmly. Lister could tell she was telling the truth.

"...Geesh. I'm sorry. I've never...I mean I didn't mean ta..."

"It's alright, Lister. I just...assumed you knew. I thought the mark gave it away, kinda."

"The what?" Lister said, distractedly. He was still going over the concept of it all in his head.

Verse ran her hands through her hair in a gesture of frustration.

"Ugh, so stupid of me to assume you have them on your universe...in your dimension. It's sort of thing we had back home. Marks on the body, you know, little tattoos. They weren't mandatory or anything, it was always just helpful in certain social circles to plainly state your religious views, or your political affiliation...or your sexual preferences. That way there was never any awkwardness when you were having a deep conversation with new people. I've always been a very open person, so I got all my Marks as soon as I was of the age to. It helped immensely when it came to playing the dating game, believe me."

Lister stared, slack jawed.

"But...where...where is it?"

"Well, it has to be clearly displayed, of course," Verse said, a little hesitantly. She shifted her arm a little, showing Lister the underside, just at the point where the wrist met the hand.

"Isn't that a dangerous place to be stickin' needles an' ink?" Lister questioned, amazed.

Verse shrugged, "I suppose," she replied, casually.

Lister eyed the mark with some remaining traces of suspicion. It looked like nothing but a little purple triangle to him.

"I'm sorry, Lister. I really assumed you had them here. I thought you were just wanting another friend. I do, you know. See you as a good friend, I mean. I see all of you boys that way."

Lister was still staring at the marking. Slowly he drew himself out of his drunken somberness by taking another swig or two of the alcohol Verse had mysteriously provided. He was sort of afraid to ask where the blessedly strong liquid had come from.

"But what about Ace?" Lister questioned, fuzzy headed, "You always sounded like you loved him or somethin'. Why are you lookin' for him, anyway? What's all of this Rimmer stuff about?"

Verse shrugged.

"I fancy girls," was all she said.

"Alright," Lister replied, and he left her alone soon after that. But he took the pitcher of alcohol with him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"I'm tellin' you, she's gay."

"Impossible," Rimmer argued, heatedly, "You've seen that...twitterpated...look she gets whenever Ace is mentioned. It's like her eyes start swimming inside of her brain, she gets so moony."

Lister shook his head.

"Nah, man. I'm telling you. I was doin' all the right stuff, right, and she blew me off. Told me she liked girls an' showed me this little tattoo that apparently proves it. That was the worst date I ever had, man, and I didn't even know I was on one 'til she got me good and drunk. Only to push me away. I feel sort of...dirty. Used, like."

Rimmer made a face.

"I don't think I've enjoyed this conversation as much as I was hoping to," he sneered.

Lister said nothing and merely stared into his cup of pot noodle with a dismal expression. He hated pot noodle, but it was the only remotely edible thing in storage at the moment. They were in desperate need of a derelict ship to plunder, or a GELF society to barter with. Anything to avoid the direness of eating pot noodle.

"I'm gonna go tell Cat to keep his nose out for anything salvageable," Lister announced, "If I gotta eat one more cuppa instant noodles, I'm goin' to go spare"

Rimmer merely snorted. He had his mind elsewhere, about as far elsewhere as possible, in fact.

He had a sudden uncontrollable desire to offer Paige "Verse" Piper a round of Risk.

"Come in."

Rimmer scuttled into the room like a rat, looking tense and ready to bolt in case things turned as strange as last time. Whatever the outcome, he promised himself, he was NOT going to sing. Not even one blasted note.

Verse smiled, broadly, as she saw him enter the medi-bay.

"Hello, Arnold," she greeted, her eyes trained on the board game tucked tightly under his blue-suited arm. She seemed determined not to look at his face, and that was fine with him.

"I thought I'd drop by," Rimmer said, stupidly.

"Yes," Verse agreed, "You certainly did. And bearing gifts, I take it."

Rimmer looked at the board in his hands and seemed somewhat surprised to see it there.

"Yes. I suppose I did."

He hadn't felt this awkward since...since...the Gaspacho soup incident. A vicious shudder ranged through his body at the memory and he quickly pushed it aside. This was nothing like that fateful night. It was just going to be a game of Risk. And he would win it, too, if this strange woman's previous actions were any indication of her game play.

Arnold Rimmer often seemed to take Risk as a game of pure war strategy rather than one of pure luck of the dice. Risk was battle to him. As close to battle as a physical coward like him was ever to get. If he won this game of Risk, he'd have won a sort of metaphysical battle with Verse that he himself could not explain. If she won, however...the results were not even worth consideration. She couldn't possibly beat an old hand like him.

With the tenderness of a mother laying her firstborn down in its cradle, Arnie Rimmer laid down the Risk board upon the bed-side table. With careful determination, he began to set up his board. Forty armies were deployed, the correct number for a two-person game.

The object of the game was simple. Take over the world one battle at a time, determining the winners over the losers by the contesting of each player's throw of the die.

With a somber expression, Verse laid out her armies where she wanted them, and Rimmer did the same.

The first die roll, however, was the most important. It was the roll that would determine which of the players got to make their move first.

Rimmer rolled the die.

Verse rolled the die.

Rimmer tried not to let his smug expression dwindle as Verse was granted the right to move her armies first.

Much later, after she'd succeeded in pushing his entire regiment out Asia and won the game, all he could do was stare and sputter that she'd somehow cheated. That she'd gained an unfair advantage by rolling first. That she was lying, that she was stupid, that it was luck. He did everything, really, but accept his defeat.

Verse, for her part, merely sighed. She always won Risk against Arnold Judas Rimmer.

"It's alright, squire," she said, peaceably, "We can play it again, if you like."

Rimmer's face turned a lovely shade of Tyrian purple.

"You called...me...squire..." he ground out through his tightly clenched jaws.

Her face registered surprise.

"Did I? Oh. Sorry. I suppose it slipped."

"That toffy taffy-headed nancy ACE used to say that, too."

"Yes," Verse replied, trying not to give anything away in motion or expression. She didn't point out that Rimmer himself often used the expression in similar situations. She tried desperately to not show how disgusted she was in this low self-degraded man at that moment. He'd lost a game of Risk, and it was if she'd blown up his entire universe in with one snap of her fingers.

She'd been through this situation at least a million times before. Arnold Rimmer lost the game, spat at her with biting insults with no real provocation, and would soon turn on his heel and walk out like the coward he was. She could practically count the seconds between each action, like a child counting the spaces between thunder roar and lightening strike to gage the closeness of the raging storm that, in Rimmer's case, never seemed to come.

She was startled, then, when the reaction came at least a good two seconds later than usual.

And even more startled was she when, rather than storming out of the medi-bay in a huff, she saw Rimmer's hands slash forward, sending the board, the pieces, the die, and the cards of the Risk game flying all over the small sterile room. He then stood there, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were pasty white. He was so tense, she thought that he might at any moment pop out like a tightly loaded spring. And, for the shortest of seconds, she expected that when the spring finally sprung, she'd feel the brunt of it's force.

Only after the Risk cards had stopped fluttering about them in the air did Arnold Judas Rimmer stride purposefully out of the room.

Verse stared at his retreating form, mouth ever so slightly agape.

He walked like a different man, in those few moments.

He walked like Ace.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Kryten's mood toward Verse had not-so-subtly shifted after the incident with Lister and the Golden Mead.

Ever since their first meeting, the mechanoid had been helpful, but distant and often outright sharp and biting. Verse had taken these strange displays of simulated emotion as a bit of corruption in his systems, though she had wondered why the corruption only seemed to manifest itself around her.

But after the Mead night, the service mech had suddenly approached her with familiarity and friendship. Not only was he helpful, but he went out of his way to do all he could for her, even staying with her from time to time for a few hours of idle conversation, helping her to while away the long hours of recuperation that remained.

Verse was wise enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together. And though she was suitably surprised that the mechnoid had been jealous of the attention that Lister had been giving her, she was exceedingly glad that her small lie had saved one more relationship than she had hoped.

By lying about her sexual preference, she'd managed to place a sturdy block between Lister's lust and Lister's heart. Almost immediately after she'd told him she was not remotely interested in him or his gender, Lister's attitude toward her had changed from one of poorly-hidden want to a sort of close brother/sister relationship that Verse especially enjoyed.

By lying, she'd managed to ensure that Arnold's interest in her would be peaked. That the cowardly nothing of a man would be able to approach her with one less fear in his head. She couldn't reject him romantically because she wouldn't even be interested in the first place. In that regard he couldn't fail with her, and it had given him the tiniest bit of courage he needed to play that game of Risk, which had surpassed her expectations by so much that she was still rather shocked when she recalled the viciousness that had appeared in Rimmer's eyes. The lie had provided her with a chance in a million. She might actually get through to a Rimmer, just this once.

And now, additionally, the well-planned lie had allowed her to gain Kryten's friendship, which was proving almost invaluable.

It wasn't a total lie, she'd often tell herself when the guilt arose. After all, she did fancy women. In fact, her primary gender of choice seemed to be creatures who were built in a similar fashion to herself. She appreciated the feeling of soft roundness, and the motherly tenderness that was to be found in the emotional build of most women she encountered.

But she did fancy men, as well.

She did and had loved Ace Rimmer, the original. She had loved the small smatterings of hologramatic Aces she'd encountered, as well. When the Corps had charged her with the important mission of finding and reclaiming her lost love, she'd jumped at the chance to see him again.

It didn't matter, at the time, that Ace Rimmer hadn't even known she was alive. Hardly anyone did, in those days, when she'd been an awkward Corps girl with nothing in her background but a lot of mystery...and an amazing knack for falling into the luckiest situations. Verse was a girl that could make things happen. And she had a singing voice that could make even a choir of Angels weep. And if those two things went hand and hand, no one ever seemed to catch on.

And that was how Paige "Verse" Piper, a Siren, had found herself in the Corps at all, hiding her alien ways in a sea of human military routine...

"Miss Piper?"

Verse startled out of her musings and smiled at Kryten as he entered, a small stack of clothes in his mechanical arms.

"I've taken the liberty of...borrowing...a few pieces of clothing from Mr. Cat and Mr. Rimmer's wardrobes and altering them to what I believe should be an appropriate approximation of your size. Though I believe they might be a good deal too tight in the chest as a result."

Verse smothered a laugh.

"Its alright, Kryten. I'm sure that none of the men will mind that in the least."

Just because they now thought they couldn't touch didn't mean they didn't often look.

Kryten laid the pile gently on Verse's bed and offered her his usual plastic grin.

"I will leave you to change then, Miss, and then I will escort you to the dining area."

"Oh," Verse said, watching as Kryten turned his boxy body to leave, "You don't have to do that..."

"Unfortunately, Miss, I believe I will. You have been bed ridden for a week now and will be quite unable to support your own weight entirely on your own."

"Oh. Well...thank you, then."

Kryten nodded.

"Of course."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Dinner with the crew of the Red Dwarf (or would it be the crew of the Starbug, in this dimension?) was unsurprisingly...strange. Between the main course (space weevil a la pot noodle) and the dinner conversation (why Lister would never be a Captain, as according to Rimmer and why Rimmer would never be a human being, as according to Lister), Verse was undeniably entertained. Weeks of time spent confined to the medical bay made it all seem highly astute and intriguing.

Fidgeting a little, finding the combination of Lister's be-patched undershirt and Arnold's old JMC-issue trousers more than a little uncomfortable, Verse prodded at her weevil and took the distracting dinner as a chance to take in sneaky glances of Rimmer's glowering face.

"Rimm'eh, I dun _care _about you an' your regulations."

"Well, I know _someone _does. Verse understands the importance of protocal. Don't you, Commander?"

She watched as his hands flew about in front of his chest as he spoke with great indignation. Ace's hands had done that, sometimes, when he found some villainous overlord especially taxing. Comparisons were subconsciously made the entire night.

"More weevil, Mr. Cat?"

"Wo_ow_! Box-head! Get that stuff away from me, yooowww!"

The way Arnold's nostrils flared, the way his voice dropped in pitch when he was nettled. It was all almost right, but so very wrong. It hurt like a taser to the heart, but brought intense joy. It was as if she'd loved the man in a past life. And while she remembered each moment...he did not. And while she had stayed relatively the same in the crossing from one life to the next, Arnold Rimmer had become a mere shadow of the man he'd been.

"Eh, Paige. Ye a'right?"

Verse dragged her attention to Lister's beady brown eyes.

"Of course," she replied, with a weak smile, "Just tired, is all. Hard as hell to get back on your feet after so much excitement. I never could handle a battle simulation for that exact reason."

"Simulation?" Arnold stated with some surprise.

Verse checked herself.

"Well, you know. Back in my boot camp days. I was...completely prepared, by the time the _real _battles came around."

Verse had never seen a battle in her life. She didn't rescue damsels or save the universe on a daily basis. She'd been a gopher, a performer, a source of entertainment and a devoted lackey to the great Ace Rimmer. But it'd be best that the interested faces around her never realized that.

"I'm gonna go catch some real dinner!" Cat announced, and danced off. While he'd much rather hunt down a space-rat than suffer another roasted space-weevil, he was much more keen to get away from the scary-lady. Even being several feet away from her around the dining table made his finely-combed hair stand right on end. There was just something _wrong _with that bitch.

Cat had just left, and Arnold's thin-lipped mouth opened as if to question Verse further, when the 'Bug suddenly gave a violent jostle. Yelps, cries, and screams filled the small space as the crew were all thrown. The lights of the 'Bug flickered, an alarm began to sound, deafeningly loud and ringing through the ears like audio daggers.

"Smegging hell! Turn that _off_!" Arnold demanded, managing to scramble to his holo-feet before being thrown again. His hard-light bulk smacked against the wall, but he, of course, retained no damage.

The lights went out entirely at the next violent toss. Lister felt rather like he was a collection of space weevil about to get vomited out by the Starbug's innards. The crew were rolled around and around, crates and bits of wire furniture flying around with them. Their cries of surprise and fear rose and fell with each roll. Verse yelped as a crate shattered and Kryten's head was bashed loose from his neck.

"What's happening!" Verse cried.

"It appears the 'Bug is doing barrel-rolls, Miss!" offered the now-headless Kryten as his body flew one way and his head the other.

"Thank you for that inspired..." another roll, a series of cries "...observation, bog-bot! WHY is this piece of space piffle doing barrel rolls?" Rimmer demanded.

Kryten's head smacked against the ceiling. Or was it a wall? It was so hard to be sure.

Finally, the 'Bug went still. The lights flicked back on after a time. Someone groaned.

"...Why's tha table on the ceilin', Krytes?"

"It's not, sir. I believe we are upside down."

"The Starbug is flying upside down? Well, hell. That's rather impressive. The Wildfire could never do _that_. And she's a time machine, for Goddess's sake!"

A rather ominus silence as Lister, Kryten, and Verse pulled themselves up from the floor (that is, the ceiling-floor) and checked each other for signs of harm.

"Wait," Verse said, pausing in the action of collecting her rainbow-hued hair up into a ponytail, "Where is Arnie?"

The three looked at each other for a moment.

"No one worry about the Cat! I'm fine. Kind of. My suit is torn. Someone needs to fix it right _now_, bud!"

"Cat!" Verse cried, taking in the bedraggled humanoid animal.

The Cat, despite his reservations about the woman, grinned fang-ily.

"It's ok, babe! I'm terrific! But I wouldn't mind a scratch behind the ears and someone tellin' me what a cute kitten I am," the Cat looked pointedly at Lister.

"No, furball," Verse snapped, approaching him, "You've got Ac-...I mean, Arnold's...-light bee in your sleeve. Give it back!"

"Huh?" Cat replied, peeking into his suit sleeve. Sure enough there was the deactivated bee, nestle between his furry arm and the soft silken lining of his precious suit.

"Give it back!" Verse repeated, lunging. She snatched the precious bee from the startled cat, who "got big" and hissed at her before running away with a loud "AH, THE CRAZY LADY CAN'T TOUCH MEEEE, YOOOOW!"

Verse sneered after him, her concern entirely focused on the bee which she cradled, like a cherished infant, in her hold. She examined it closely, turning it carefully round and round while Lister and Kryten looked on.

"No," she breathed, voice tinged with desperation, "No, no, no, _no_!"

Lister took a halting step forward, laying a large hand on her shoulder. She did not even seem to note the contact.

"What s'it, Paige?"

Verse turned her head a little to look Lister in the eyes. Her own eyes were shiny with tears that spilled out in rapid succession down her cheeks. She sniffled, voice choked.

"The bee. His light bee. It's...it's...he's...cracked."

"Oh, bugger," Kryten offered, helpfully.

Verse sobbed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Well, sir. With some looking back into the Starbug's data flight records I can safely say I know what caused the malfunction," said Kryten, looking up from the 'Bug's still-flickering displays.

"Yea?" Lister replied, a bit distant.

"It appears that the audio hail from the Wildfire II contained a slight parcel of...damage, sir. This segregated malfunction entered the Bug's navigational systems and caused a severe but temporary corruption which lead the 'Bug to fly in continuous barrel rolls."

"S'fixed now, tho', right, Krytes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Lister sighed out and stood up to leave the cockpit.

"Sir?" Kryten hazarded with no small bit of concern in his voice.

"Keep her flyin' straight, eh, Kryten? I'm gonna go check on Paige."

Kryten frowned a little. Their female passenger, last the bot had seen of her, had been completely out of her mind with devastation. Clearly her moods had also cast a shadow on Lister's usually perky attitude. Or could it be that the 'death' of Arnold Rimmer was just as taxing on Lister's emotional state as it was on the woman's? The android shook his head despairingly. He would never quite understand humans and their strange emotions.

"Hey."

Verse looked up slowly from the dining room table. Ever since the incident a few hours before, she'd set up shop there. The light bee lay in bits on the table's surface as well as a scattering of tools which she had been using previously to repair her dismantled Dimension Drive.

"Hey," she offered half-heartedly back, turning a tiny screw tightly clockwise. The bee gave a faint glow.

"...Can...can ya fix him?"

"Yes. I mean...well, yes."

Lister sat backwards in the chair opposite the woman, frowning a little.

"Somthin' you aren't telling me...?"

Verse sighed, putting both bee and screwdriver down for a moment.

"I think I can restore this bee to project the form of Arnold Rimmer just as he was, yes."

Lister waited patiently for her to go on.

Verse scrubbed her eyes with her fingers. She was so tired and feeling irrational. But the possibility was just there, staring her in the face.

"Back in my days in the Corps, I worked as a mech on my day hours. I know the ins and outs of almost any machine in my universe, and I've been gaining a lot of intelligence about holograms, as well, in my travels."

"'Cos there are...what, hologram Ace's out there?"

Verse nodded, "I know this is hard for you to believe, Lister, but...there are an infinite number of universes out there. And there are an infinite number of Arnold Rimmers who _become_ Ace. I think he- the original Ace- started it all. But that doesn't matter. The point is, I've run into hundreds of hologram-Aces now. I've even spent some quality time with a few. I repaired two. One of which was in even worse shape than this."

"So ya can definitely fix him, then. Wot's the problem?"

"I can restore Arnold Rimmer just as he was," Verse repeated, slowly, "Or...I could restore him into something, no, some_one_ better."

Lister's eyes widened a little and he found himself chewing on his dreadlocks with some anxiety.

"You're gonna turn him into _Ace_?"

"I could program him for it, yes. And not just _any _Ace, Lister!"

Verse leaned forward with some excitement, grabbing Lister's free hand in hers from across the table, her eyes taking on a bright almost-predatory gleam.

"I've met hundreds and hundreds of them, Lister, and not one of them, _not even one _has looked at me twice. Oh, the original, he loved me, in his own way. I was his apprentice, his little grease-monkey sycophant. He always did love his fans. His billions and trillions of _fans_. But the rest? Never. Too wrapped up in their adventures, their damsels, their smegging code of honor. If I could make Ace, if I could form him as _I_ want him...!"

Lister jerked his hand out of Verse's hold, a look of revulsion on his face the like of which he only wore in the face of pot-noodle and washing-day.

"Yer crazeh!" he accused. Suddenly, that strange feeling he'd felt, sometimes, in her presence made sense.

"No. No, I'm not crazy, Lister. I'm just _better than you_. I'm going to take what I deserve for once!"

"Yeh can't!" Lister argued, and lunged forward, grabbing the largest piece of the light bee and cramming it in the only available place he could think of where it might be safe, his mouth.

Verse stood up and began to cross to him around the table, her fists clenched, her eyes gleaming, her jaw set. Her neon locks seemed to be glowing faintly. When she opened her mouth, faint music replaced words. The sound, bewitching and beautiful, filled the dining pod. Lister felt his body going a bit slack, his eyes drooping.

"No!" he shouted, jerking himself upright, though the cry came out a good bit muffled around Rimmer's mechanical inner bits.

The music kept playing in his mind even though Verse was speaking, now.

"Believe me, Lister. I understand. I know what it is to love him. Or, a part of him, anyway. I know how hard it is to watch him leave you behind for better things. I've seen the backsides of so many Aces, and I've cried and cried over it, always ending up alone. Like I was the last being in all the universes."

"I dun _love _Rimmeh!" Lister argued, though it came out of his mouth as nothing more than "mmhfhhh!"

Verse, despite this, seemed to understand.

"Oh, but you _do, _Lister. It's so obvious. The way you bicker and banter and fight. You are the last two of your race, more or less. What could it be but love? That's why I know. I know you'll give me that bee and let me make Arnie the man he was always meant to be. Because when you love someone, you want to see them made happier, don't you? I've met you both before. Versions of you, anyway. And I know that you'd want him to be Ace. I know how you always push and push and try to convince him of that potential."

All this time, Verse was advancing. She was upon him, jumping. Together they crashed to the floor. The light bee was forced from Lister's lips with a wet PWAH of sound. Verse caught it in her crushing grip, staring down at Lister in triumph.

"You said you fancied girls!" Lister could think of nothing else to say.

She smiled, a bright and toothy thing, understandably excited by the prospect of making her dearest wish finally come true.

"I lied. A little. Now. Are you going to handle this like adults, Lister? If we cannot, I will kill you. I will also kill the rest of your crew. A bit drastic. But, hell. What's a girl to do?"

Lister frowned, desperately wanting to spit in the Siren's face. Or kiss her grinning lips. He frowned even deeper. Damn women.

"Alright, alright!" he surrended.

Verse scrambled off of him obligingly, settling back to task.

"Thank you," she stated, crisp, "Ace should be functional in a few hours. We shall then be leaving on the Wildfire immediately after."

Lister stood up, setting his deerstalker straight with a murderous expression on his usually baby-sweet face.

"Fine," he ground out, "Anything I can do for you, _Verse?_"

Verse looked up from the machine in her grasp with a smug smirk.

"Yes. Get out of my workroom, please. This is delicate work."

"Didn't you hear meh, Krytes? She's gonna turn Arnold into Ace!"

"Yes, sir! I did hear you. My audio retention systems are working very well, thank you, now that my head's back on straight."

"Kryten, yer missin' the point!" Lister wailed out, throwing himself into the pilot's seat.

"But, sir. You have been encouraging Mr. Rimmer to act more like his heroic counterpart since we met Mr. Ace. I was under the impression you would find this a pleasing turn of events."

"That's wot she said, too, the bitch! I wanted Rimmeh to change _himself_. Not be programmed into somethin' he innit!"

"Yes, sir," was Kryten's calm reply. He had no problems, personally, with either Verse or Arnold Rimmer vacating the premises. Now if Mr. Cat would only go off chasing asteroids or something similar! Then he and Mr. Lister might live in domestic bliss with Lister making all the messes and Kryten gleefully cleaning them up.

"I'm gonna go see if she's done it, yet," Lister declared, stomping out. Kryten just sighed a little and corrected the 'Bug's course.


End file.
